


i want you by my side

by memitims



Series: consider ur fav ship [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ian and mickey brave the world of fine dining</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want you by my side

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the eighth bullet point on [this](http://zoroasterperetola.tumblr.com/post/90887735050/yes-but-consider-ur-fav-ship-making-rly-bad) list ('yes but consider ur fav ship saving up and going 2 a fancy place for dinner but they cant pronounce the names of some of the dishes on the menu and its cute')

Ian was shoveling a piece of pizza into his mouth at the kitchen table when Mickey laid a hand on his arm to get his attention. They were alone in the room now, save for Debbie, who was crouched down at the oven, testing her newest batch of chocolate-chip cookies. Ian's mouth was watering just thinking about them. Debbie made a damn good cookie. 

He put down the pizza and turned towards Mickey, who was rubbing his fingers over his tattooed knuckles, one of the nervous tics Ian had picked up on. Ian wanted to reach out and still Mickey's hands, wanted to tell Mickey that _it's okay, you can talk to me about anything, you can ask me anything_ , but he didn't, because he liked Mickey just the way he was, nervousness or not. Mickey had come a hell of a long way already. He saw nothing in Mickey that he needed to fix. 

"Um," Mickey said, soft, like a secret. "I kinda saved up some money, and I was wondering if-" He paused, and Ian looked at him like he was a weirdo, because he kinda was sometimes, and Ian loved it, and that seemed to be the right thing to do, because Mickey swallowed and kept going. "If you wanted to go out. With me. On a date." And then he rolled his eyes at Ian, because no invitation from Mickey was complete without a good eye-roll. 

Mickey was the king of trivializing romantic gestures ( _"fuck you, is what you were invited to"_ ), but Ian saw right through him. It took a little longer, took a little more effort to understand Mickey than it did most people. It was hard, to rummage through the layers, to shatter his hardened exterior, to break the iron-cage around his heart, but Ian managed it because Mickey was important and he deserved to be understood. Ian did it to make up for all the people that never gave him a second glance, the people that saw Mickey as blood and violence and bullets, the ones who pushed him to the side because he was just another goddamn Milkovich kid. And Ian did it because the person he found underneath is the one he wants to laugh with for the rest of his life.

"'Course I do, asshole," laughed Ian. And Mickey took a deep breath, and smiled a little.

"Yeah, that's fuckin' right you do," he said, cockily, all traces of nervousness gone. "No one cannot resist a date with Mickey Milkovich."

Ian didn't know it was possible to be this happy. Debbie stood up from behind the counter and winked at Ian over Mickey's head, because she was a sneaky little eavesdropper. Mickey followed Ian's gaze and groaned when he saw Debbie smiling at them. 

"Fuckin' Debbie," he said, fondly, because it was no secret that Mickey has a soft spot for Ian's little sister. "You gonna bring me one of those cookies?"

\---

Mickey took him downtown, to a fancy Italian restaurant in the nice part of town, and Ian beamed the whole way there. Mickey looked good, real good, in a dark blue button-up and black dress pants. Ian told him this, and Mickey flipped him off. Ian's own clothes were a bit too tight, having borrowed Lip's only suit, but Mickey didn't seem to mind. 

They had fuckin' reservations, and the host or waiter or whatever the fuck he was called led them to a dark booth in the corner of the restaurant. Mickey looked around, nervously, because despite everything, he was born to look for danger, so Ian just pressed his palm into Mickey's back and whispered "It's okay," into his ear. They slid into opposite sides of the booth, and Ian grinned at Mickey.

"The hell you being so quiet for tonight?" he asked, moving his legs under the table to slot them between Mickey's. 

Mickey gulped and grabbed for the menu. "It's just, um, I've never really been to a restaurant like this before."

"Dude," Ian said. "I've been to one like this once, maybe. It's no big deal. If we screw up, we screw up together, got it?"

Mickey nodded and looked relieved, and shifted his legs to tangle them up more with Ian's. They stared at the menu in silence, for a few minutes, before Mickey started laughing.

"How," he started, looking up at Ian, his eyes twinkling, "the fuck are we supposed to pronounce some of these?"

Ian's stomach swooped, and he put his head in his hands, laughing along with Mickey. 

"Jesus Christ," he breathed out.

"I mean, what the hell is Brush-chetta? Bruck-etta? I don't even fuckin' know."

Ian was laughing harder now, and Mickey was just smiling at him, the way Ian never really saw him smile at anyone else, not that he was keeping track, and he made Ian's life so much brighter. 

"Yeah, you're fucking hilarious," Ian said, between laughs, because Mickey actually kinda was, but he couldn't just straight-up say that.

Ian could see the waiter approaching their table, so he composed himself and aimed a light kick at Mickey under the table. Mickey glared at him. 

"Are you gentlemen ready to order?" the waiter asked, haughtily, looking down his nose at them in a way Ian didn't like. It was obvious Mickey didn't either, because the waiter became the newest recipient of the Mickey Milkovich death-glare. Ian almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

"Yes," Ian said. "I'll have the-, um, the gah-no-shi."

Mickey burst out laughing, and it was Ian's turn to glare. The waiter was not amused, and that seemed to make Mickey laugh even harder. He looked at the two of them like they were crazy, but Ian just grinned at him, because he wasn't gonna take any shit from some snobby-ass waiter.

"It's pronounced nyo-kee," the waiter sneered, and Ian, frankly, didn't give a fuck how it was pronounced, all he cared about was Mickey's stupid laugh. 

The waiter turned towards Mickey, who was still gasping for breath, and raised his eyebrows at him. Mickey straightened and handed over his menu. 

"I'll just have the spaghetti and meatballs." The waiter nodded, jotted something down on his pad, and stalked away from the table. 

"You're no fun." Ian swatted at Mickey across the table. Mickey caught his wrist between his fingers and held on, settling their hands against the table. Ian stared at Mickey's fingers where they delicately circled his wrist. It hit him, all at once, that he never could have predicted this, never could have imagined (well, _let_ himself imagine), him and Mickey on a fucking date, of all things, and the road here had been rocky and bumpy and full of goddamn potholes, but somehow, the way Mickey looked at him made it all worth it. 

"Hey," Mickey said, softly. "I took you to this fucking stupid restaurant. And I'm paying for your weird-ass dish. So shut up, and eat your bread and butter."

Ian just grinned at him.


End file.
